A Cherry Lemonade For The Man On the Velocipede Please

[to Robin Williams and those who loved him]

we are the jesters in old costumes
and bright slippers, with worn soles;
worn souls, gestures of the

harlequinade, the dancing days;
with glittery wings and gauze,
we give them pause,

the brokers in the rain
bounding for their trains.
o may they fill our felt hats

to the brim caught in the nets of whimsey;

with spare gold, a doubloon or two,
for stories told,
the odd star sapphire.

odd isn't it, how a lifetime

can be spent as plain as plain
with no revelations whatsoever
then, down the drain

we, on the other hand appear

over decorated

like Eloise at Christmas
cause we like it that way;
careening in and out of traffic

and making small payments
day upon day
on the velocipedes

of the fairly free;
olde poetry on a spree.
and the paper flower bouquets,

the scarves in credible array
in quixotic shades
pulled out of the very air

we breakfasted on,
just yesterday.

mary angela douglas 7 august 2016